Havasupai reborn year after disastrous flash flood

by Dennis Wagner - Aug. 16, 2009 12:00 AMThe Arizona Republic

SUPAI, Ariz. - John Luttman gingerly steps through whitewater to a rock outcrop and leaps off the 30-foot cliff, merging with a waterfall that did not exist one year ago, splashing into the surrealistically cyan-colored waters of Havasu Creek.

"It's just exhilarating," the 33-year-old Tucson resident says. "It's the reason you come down here."

One year after a devastating flood hit this world-renowned Grand Canyon destination, the Havasupai tribe has reopened its spectacular falls and idyllic pools to visitors - even as restoration work continues.

About 100 tourists are allowed daily during monsoon season, arriving on foot, by horseback and in helicopters to see what Life magazine once described as the best swimming hole in North America. Here, in a chasm surrounded by massive red walls, 450 tribal members rely on tourist dollars as a primary source of income.

For 10 months after the deluge of Aug. 16-17, 2008, the campground was closed to outsiders as tribal members and volunteers worked to repair millions of dollars in damage, fortify stream banks and install early-warning systems.

"I come down almost every year," Ruth McDaniel, 53, of San Diego, said this month. "I love it so much. And I don't love it any less now."

The flash flood, spawned by monsoon storms in Arizona's Coconino Plateau country, gushed into Grand Canyon tributaries like a liquid bulldozer. It swallowed hiking trails, undermined a cemetery and killed hundreds of statuesque shade trees in the campground.

About 250 tourists in the campground were warned in the afternoon of a possible flood, but no one anticipated the brown wave that struck around midnight.

Some climbed trees. Others sloshed to high ground.

Miraculously, there were no deaths or serious injuries. Helicopters plucked campers from safe perches as they marveled at nature's destructive power.

Greg Fisk, supervisory hydrological technician with the U.S. Geological Survey, said more than 6 inches of rainfall upstream sent a roiling mass through normally dry channels. Near Supai, Havasu Creek's flow surged more than ninetyfold, from a normal 65 cubic feet per second, to 6,000.

While there have been much larger inundations, Fisk said, canyon conditions made this one hit with devastating force. Floodwaters carved a new streambed, toppled magnificent ash and cottonwood trees, uprooted bridges, and tossed RV-sized boulders aside.

The first icon, known as 50-Foot Falls, became 75 feet high.

A detour left the famed Navajo Falls high and dry but created a new landmark with no official name. Known variously as Rock Falls, Emerald Falls or Unnamed Falls, this is where Luttman took his refreshing dive.

Further downstream, Havasu Falls now features a single spout of whitewater rather than the veiled spray or double flume captured in thousands of photographs over the past century.

Finally, a network of mini lagoons was blown away at the base of Mooney Falls, which at 200 feet looms higher than Niagara Falls.

Villagers in Supai, arguably the most remote community in the lower 48 states, escaped major damage. Tribal maps, handed out to about 25,000 visitors each year, still do not reflect the changes.

The rebuilding

With help from volunteers and contributors around the world, tribal members spent 10 months rebuilding.

Stream banks have been fortified, pools recreated, trails rerouted. Flood gauges upstream are linked to an early-warning system in the village.

Since the reservation reopened to visitors June 1, life seems back to normal, and tribal members regard the damage with a sense of geological equanimity.

"Most of the people say it's really sad now, and it is when you see Navajo Falls," said Suzanna Siyuja, the assistant tourism director. "But, traditionally, we're kind of used to this."

Siyuja said she understands that some may mistakenly view a flood as destructive, even unnatural. Then she laughed, noting, "We have people who come here and ask, 'Are the waterfalls on right now? What time do they turn them off?' "

Change is inevitable and constant, she added, even in a roadless chasm that was formed over eons.

Meanwhile, Havasu Creek has regained its legendary turquoise hue, the color of a resort-hotel swimming pool.

New deposits of calcium carbonate, known as travertine, already are reforming coral-like pools with help from strategically placed sandbags.

Kelene Johnson, 22, of Henderson, Nev., waded into a pool beneath Mooney Falls after negotiating the spooky descent on a trail that spirals through rock tunnels. "I mean, this is like the coolest place ever," she gushed.

David Rains, a 44-year-old from Corona, Calif., said he planned to cool off in Navajo Falls after completing the 9-mile trek from atop the Coconino Plateau. "We were looking and looking for it, but it was gone," added Rains, swimming instead at Havasu Falls. "But it's still great here. I still love it."

Gail Brown, 53, a Delta, Ohio, resident on her sixth visit to Havasupai, played poker with family members while sitting at a picnic table half-submerged in the creek, a picturesque reminder of flood damage.

"It's way different now," Brown conceded. "But it's still just so beautiful."

'Forever cleansing'

A 1996 study by the U.S. Geological Survey, "When the Blue Green Waters Turn Red," says Havasupai endured at least 14 significant floods during the 20th century and many more going back thousands of years.

The report contains photographic documentation that the creek behaves like a writhing snake that spastically shifts locations over time.

More proof abounds throughout the canyon: Ancient travertine formations hang stalactitelike from cliffs along long-dry stream channels. Mineral formations formed by water eons ago are now home to prickly pear cactuses.

Mike Lowe, who leads tours into Havasupai, described the most recent flood as a catharsis and a "blessing."

Prospective visitors should refer to the Web site for additional details.

The Tribe

Tribal name: Written in the native language as Havasuw 'Baaja, the name means people of the blue-green water.

Population: 650 enrolled members, about 450 of them living in Supai.

Location: Grand Canyon, 64 miles north of Peach Springs, Ariz.

Access: The village of Supai is 2,000 feet below the canyon rim, reachable only via a steep, 8-mile hiking and mule trail, or by helicopter.

Tribal language: Pai.

Primary employment: Tourism.

Number of annual visitors: About 25,000.

History: Havasupai have resided in the canyon more than 1,000 years. In 1919 the tribe was restricted to an area of just 518 acres. The reservation was expanded to 188,077 acres of indigenous lands in the 1970s.